Always Book 1
by Neverfallforfun
Summary: A Severus Snape story.  The T rating is just a precaution .
1. Chapter 1

"Severus, it is imperative that I speak with you."

The Potions Master looked up from his gently simmering cauldron to see the Headmaster standing in the doorway of the dungeon.

"Yes, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore held up a rather shabby package wrapped in brown paper. "It has arrived." He brought it over to the table where Snape stood, and placed it on the table. "Just in time, too, for I have received a letter that an attempt has already been made." He pulled a letter out of his pocket and set it next to the little package. It was addressed to Dumbledore from the Head Goblin of Gringotts.

"So, this is really it then?" Snape asked, barely brushing the package with the tips of his fingers. When the Headmaster didn't object, Snape gingerly picked it up and removed the wrappings. A small, somewhat unimpressive, blood-red red stone sat in his hand.

It was completely unremarkable except for the way it reflected the fire under Snape's cauldron. The flames seemed to dance across the surface of the stone, and then reflect through it as thought it trapped the light inside.

"That's really it." Dumbledore replied, jerking Snape out of his reverie.

"So, you really believe that The Dark Lord is after the Stone?" Snape held up the Sorcerer's Stone as if he were presenting evidence.

"As I said before," Dumbledore took the stone and replaced it with the letter. "He has already tried."

Snape opened the letter and scanned the contents quickly, then looked back up at Dumbledore. "Do you believe he knows that it's here?" Dumbledore nodded. "Then, how do you propose we stop him?" He handed the letter back to the Headmaster.

"That is where you come in." Dumbledore replied, a sly smile playing across his face. "I propose that we make a series of challenges for the seeker of the stone to pass through. I have already spoken with Hagrid, Minerva, Filius, and Pomona. The only ones left are you, and Quirinus- the new Defense against the Dark Arts Teacher."

Snape nodded to show that he remembered the professor. "What do you wish me to do?"

"Each of the other teachers is playing to their strengths. Plants, enchanted chessmen, flying keys, three-headed dogs; Even I am providing a protection. I believe that you are familiar with the mirror of Erised." Snape nodded.

"I shall think of something." He agreed. Dumbledore beamed, scooped up the letter, and the stone, deposited both in his pocket, and began to leave the dungeon.

When he reached the door, Dumbledore paused and turned back. "By the way," He began. "More than one acquaintance of yours will be beginning school this year."

"I don't understand…"

"Harry Potter will be entering school this year." With that, Dumbledore swept from the room, leaving Snape to his thoughts.

Suddenly, Severus seemed to go 10 years back in time.

_He was walking slowly down the lane in Godric's Hollow – trepidation and fear of what he would find slowing his footsteps. He finally reached the small house._

_The gate was swinging open by one hinge. His eyes travelled slowly up the face of the house to the second floor. It had been almost completely blown away. He walked through the gate, and passed through the front door and into the house. He moved quietly up the stairs, pausing for a moment when he came across the still figure of James Potter at the top of the stairs, his eyes staring up at him, unseeing, his mouth slightly open._

_Snape could hear crying from down the hall, and his breath caught in his throat. He stepped over James' body and continued down the corridor towards an open door. He could see moonlight on the floor._

He jerked himself back to his senses. He had a job to do, after all. He pulled a piece of parchment and a quill towards him, his previous potion completely forgotten.


	2. Chapter 2

"Chocolate frog."

The griffin jumped out of the way, and Snape stepped on to the rotating staircase, looking upwards, toward his destination – the Headmaster's office. He carried a moderately small box in one hand, and a scroll in the other.

He reached the top of the stairs, and tapped on the door.

"Come." Dumbledore's voice filtered through the wood. Snape pushed the door open, and found himself facing five professors and the gamekeeper.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore looked at him over the rims of his half-moon glasses. "You're the last one." He motioned to the others standing around his desk.

Each carried a package. Hagrid held a small box with holes punched in the top, and it emitted barking sounds every few moments. Sprout was standing very still, holding what looked like a Devil's Snare. Flitwick carried a box full of keys, three broomsticks lay on the ground at his feet. McGonagall held a large wizard chess set in her hands, and Quirrell held a box similar to Hagrid's – but rather than barks, it emitted loud snores.

"Now that we are all here," Dumbledore stood, and walked around his desk to join the other professors. "Shall we proceed?" He motioned to the door, and they all left together.

Dumbledore led the way through the corridors, making pleasant small talk with Professor McGonagall.

"The students arrive this evening." McGonagall said. "It's about time."

"Indeed." Dumbledore smiled. "The school seems too empty during the summer months."

They finally reached the third floor corridor, and Dumbledore ushered them all into a small room with a trapdoor in the floor near the back wall.

"Hagrid," Dumbledore began, "once they are all through the trapdoor, you may release Fluffy, and I shall restore him to his usual enormity." He then motioned to the trapdoor, and Hagrid went to lift it up. He pulled a small, silver rope ladder out of his pocket, and lowered it into the hole, attaching it to a latch in the floor.

The other professors went through first, and Snape was about to follow when Dumbledore called him back.

"Close the trapdoor, Severus."

Snape walked over to the trapdoor, and looked down at the other professors. He saw Quirrell looking up at him, one hand gripping the ladder, the other holding up his lit wand with his snoring box tucked under his arm. He had a slightly disappointed look on his face. Snape climbed down after the turbaned professor, and shut the door behind him.

At the bottom of the ladder, they all looked at each other.

"Well," McGonagall said. "Shall we begin?" They all nodded, and stepped from the room in order to give the Herbology professor more room.

Pomona Sprout placed the Devil's Snare on the ground and pulled out her wand. Muttering spells under her breath, she magicked the plant out of its pot, and it began to unfurl its tendrils, winding them across the floor and up the walls until all you could see was a mass of green vines.

She backed slowly out of the room to avoid attracting attention from the plant, and then she rejoined the others, who were already enchanting Flitwick's box of keys in the next chamber.

Flitwick himself pulled the key out of the large silver door at the far end of the room, and performed a simple charm, "Alae." Wings sprouted from the key, and it flew off to join the other keys that were already circling the ceiling. The three broomsticks were propped up against the wall by the door.

When finished, they proceeded to the next room. McGonagall motioned for them to wait by the far door. They crossed the room, and watched as the transfiguration professor laid the chess set at the center of the room.

Snape glanced at the three professors standing around him. Flitwick and Sprout were conversing genially about the upcoming year. Both seemed rather unconcerned with what McGonagall was doing, but Quirrell was watching her rather intently.

Snape narrowed his eyes, and observed him, his suspicion growing with each passing moment. Quirrell must have realized that he was being watched because he became suddenly interested with adjusting his turban. Snape turned back towards McGonagall, who had enlarged her chess set with an Engorgio charm, and was now directing them to their positions. He saw Quirrell glance at him out of the corner of his eye, and Snape rolled his lip into a sneer.

McGonagall rejoined them, wiping a little sweat from her brow. "Shall we move on then?" They proceeded to the next room, and Quirrell stepped forward.

"I r-r-recommend that y-you all m-m-move on." He stammered, opening the box. He tipped it on the floor, and out tumbled a miniature troll. It was still snoring heavily. "M-monster m-might wake up." He wheezed a small laugh.

They moved in to the next room, which was extremely small. It was more of a corridor than a room with an opening at each end. There was a small table against one wall, and a grate over each threshold.

"We'll wait in the next room." Came the voice of Pomona Sprout. Snape nodded, and they left the room.

He placed his box and scroll on the table, and was in the process of unpacking it when Quirrell stumbled into the room.

"They are waiting in there." Snape nodded toward the other door.

"Oh." Quirrell smiled nervously. "R-r-right." He went on in to the next room, glancing back over his shoulder. Snape waited until he was out of sight before he resumed.

He had already figured out the order of the potions back in his office, and now only had to cross-check it with the riddle to make sure it worked.

It did. Naturally.

He pulled out his wand and lit a fire in the first grate. Then, he pulled out a small phial, and tipped it into the flames, turning them purple. They disappeared back into the grate.

Then, Snape crossed the other threshold and cast the same spell, flames leaping through the metal bars. He then pulled out another potion and poured it out, turning the flames black, and causing them to recede into the grate.

Snape nodded, content with his work, and continued down the corridor to join the other professors.

They stood together - Flitwick was asking McGonagall about the enchantments she used on the chess set, and Quirrell was listening to their conversation very intently.

"Ah, Severus." Dumbledore's voice came from somewhere on his left. Snape looked around and saw him standing in an open doorway. "Last again."

"Yes, Headmaster."

"Come, professors," Dumbledore smiled. "Young minds have begun to arrive."

Snape glanced a Quirrell, who looked back towards the enchantments nervously. Their eyes met briefly, and the Quirrell hurried through the doorway. Dumbledore followed Snape's gaze, and then looked back at him quizzically.


	3. Chapter 3

"Headmaster," Snape matched his stride to that of Dumbledore. "Might I ask a question?"

They were on their way to the Great Hall for the start of the year feast.

"You have already asked one." He chuckled. "But, you may ask another."

"Where is the final protection for the stone?"

"It shall be revealed in time." He replied.

"Yes, sir." Snape dropped the subject. "There is something else that… well, makes me uneasy." He confessed.

"What would that be, Severus?" Dumbledore looked at him, the same quizzical look on his face that he had worn earlier.

"First, why bother with all of the enchantments if there is a back door to the chamber where the stone is hidden?"

"Ah." Dumbledore smiled knowingly. "That doorway can only be opened by the headmaster. I'm not really sure why. It is one of Hogwarts' many secrets, I suppose."

"Also," Snape took a deep breath. "I must bring some suspicious behaviour to light. Professor Quirrell was acting very odd down in the chambers." He glanced at Dumbledore, pausing a moment for a response. When the headmaster offered none, he continued. "He seemed almost too interested in the protective enchantments put in place to protect the stone."

"Are you sure you are not reading too much into his curiosity?" Dumbledore asked. Snape opened his mouth to say something. "I do not distrust you, Severus." He came to a halt at the top of the Grand Staircase and turned to face the Potions Master. "Do not become blinded by your ambitions towards his position."

"Of course, Headmaster." Snape replied.

"I have my reasons for choosing Quirinus." Dumbledore stated. "However, it might be wise to keep an eye on him." He looked at Snape over the rims of his spectacles. "Discreetly."

Snape bowed his head, and Dumbledore descended the staircase and disappeared into the Great Hall.

A moment later, Snape followed him.

Snape had just taken his seat next to Professor Quirrell when the older students began to file in. The hall buzzed with young, excited voices.

A few minutes later, McGonagall walked into the hall, leading a group of rather frightened looking first years. The first person he recognized was a young boy with platinum blond hair.

_The Malfoy boy._ He thought to himself. He remembered Lucius telling him that the boy would be beginning school this year.

McGonagall lined the students along the staff table, and retrieved the Sorting Hat and stool. Snape thought he could see sweat running down the neck of one round-faced boy standing towards his end of the line.

_"Evans, Lily." The little red-headed girl next him gave his hand a squeeze, and then bounded up to sit on the stool. She placed the hat on her head, and a moment later it shouted "GRYFFINDOR!"_

_She jumped off the stool, and smiled as she ran over to the Gryffindor table, which was cheering loudly. She caught Snape's eye, and beamed encouragement at him. She took a seat next to a boy with shaggy black hair._

_A few more names were called._

_"Potter, James." This boy had untidy black hair and wore round, wire-rimmed glasses. The hat had barely touched his head when it too shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" He grinned, and sat beside Lily at the Gryffindor table._

_"Hi, I'm James."_

_"I'm Lily." He heard them introduce themselves._

_At that moment, he wished he would get placed in Gryffindor._

_"Snape, Severus."_

_He walked up to the stool and sat down, then he placed the hat gingerly on his head._

_"SLYTHERIN!" It shouted immediately._

_He joined the table of silver and green. He was excited to be in Slytherin, like his ancestors before him, but why couldn't Lily be in Slytherin too?_

"Potter, Harry." Snape was jerked out of his reverie by McGonagall's sharp voice calling out that oh-so-familiar name. He heard whispering around the hall, and saw a small, skinny boy with untidy jet-black hair and wire-rimmed glasses step forward and take his place on the stool. The hat was placed on his head, and dropped over his eyes. A full minute passed. The hat seemed to be having difficulty placing him.

"GRYFFINDOR!" It finally shouted. The Gryffindor table let out the loudest cheer yet.

Snape let out a breath he didn't even realize he had been holding. Of course he would be sorted into Gryffindor. Why wouldn't he be? Both of his parents had been in that house. Still, what a thorn in the side it would have been to James if his son had been in Slytherin.

The rest of the sorting passed rather quickly.

Albus Dumbledore stood, beaming at the students, holding his arms open wide. "Welcome!" He began. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" He sat back down, and the room broke into applause.

The plates before them filled with food, and the feast began.

Snape had barely begun to reach for some potatoes when Professor Quirrell engaged him in conversation.

"Why a troll?" Snape asked him after they had exhausted the topic of potions.

"Oh, w-well, you s-see," Quirrell stammered. "I have a g-g-gift with t-trolls. N-never been a f-f-fan of v-vampires." He shuddered

"Oh really?" Snape asked. "And why is that?"

Quirrell began babbling about a vampire he had encountered in Romania, and so he stuffed his turban with garlic to ward it off. Then, that led him to speak of how he had received the turban as a gift from some African prince for getting rid of a zombie.

_For a stutterer, he sure can go on and on._ Snape thought to himself.

He suddenly felt a pair of familiar eyes on him. He shifted his gaze slightly from Quirrell's face to the right, and he met the eyes of Harry Potter. He felt like his heart had stopped. He really did have Lily's eyes. He saw the boy mouth something, and then clap his hand to his forehead. Snape looked away.

It was an abomination! The eyes of _his_ Lily looking out of the face of James Potter! Snape had no idea how he was going to survive the next seven years when the _living proof_ of her preference for another man would stare up at him in class every week.

The Headmaster caught his eye, and Snape nodded almost imperceptibly.

_"No one can know."_


	4. Chapter 4

Surprisingly enough, Snape didn't think about the Potter boy for several days. He completely immersed himself in leading potions classes – especially since his N.E.W.T students had only passed their O.W.L.s by the skin of their noses the previous year.

"Potion-making is not a game." He said silkily. He pulled out a very battered copy of _Advanced Potion Making_ by Libatius Borage. "Today," he began, letting the book fall open in his hand. "Today you will be making a draught of Hiccoughing Solution, to induce hiccoughing. The ingredients can be found on page 126." There was a moment of silence. "Well? Get a move on!" He snapped. The class leapt into action.

This class was ridiculously small – they all fit around one table. While this did make it easier to observe the class, the Potions Master was still disappointed that so few people chose to extend their potions knowledge beyond the intermediate level.

Why, when he was a student, there had been many more people that had continued on to the N.E.W.T. level. But, then again, Professor Slughorn had been much more generous about who accepted at that level. _Admitting students with Exceeds Expectations?_ Just the thought of it made him want to laugh. He had always strived to excel at potions. He had never received anything lower than an outstanding.

The students began to settle down, and took their seats. There was no speaking as they were all concentrating intently upon their potions. Ingrid Eastchurch, a sixth year Slytherin girl, seemed to be having no trouble at all with the potion. Her neighbor, however – one Ted Bletchley of Hufflepuff – seemed to be having particular trouble. At one point, the potion even melted the glass stirring rod he was holding in his hand. As class drew to a close, he pulled six small flasks out of one of the cabinets, and put them on his desk at the front of the class.

"At this time, you should have finished your potion, so siphon a bit of it into one of these flasks, put your name on it, and leave it on my desk. Then you may leave." He addressed the class.

One-by-one, they came forward and placed their potions on the desk, then left. The last student approached the Potions Master.

"Do you have the first years today?" Ingrid asked him.

"Indeed." He replied, his hands clasped behind his back.

She gave him a nasty smile. "I hope that you give them as… _warm_ a welcome as you gave us." She bowed slightly. "Good day, professor."

"Miss Eastman." He inclined his head and watched her leave the dungeon. After her back had disappeared up the stairs, he pulled out his wand and flicked it at the door, slamming it shut.

With another wave of his wand, the finished phials of the Hiccoughing Solution were whisked away into a cabinet. He pointed at the table the students had been using and said, "Scourgify." Instantly the table was clean, and the cauldrons were washed out – which he then magicked into the far corner of the room.

He slipped his wand back up his sleeve and crossed behind his desk. From a side drawer, he pulled out a scroll with a list of the first years' names. Then he crossed back in front of his desk and leaned against its edge, waiting for the first years to file in.

He didn't wait long. Judging by the colors of the robes, he was teaching a class of Slytherins and Gryffindors. _Well, this should be entertaining – to say the least._ Soon, every stool was full.

Snape unrolled the scroll, and began to read off names. He glanced up at the Malfoy boy's name and saw the same sneer he had so often seen on Lucius. He continued down the list, pausing when he reached, "Harry Potter." He said softly. "Our new – celebrity." Then he continued down the list.

"You are here," he began in a subtle whisper, "to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making." He paused, and the class remained silent, all of their eyes glued to him. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic." He paused again, his eyes scanning the class. "I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." His mind flashed back to his previous class.

The class remained silent. He saw the Potter boy look at the red-headed boy next him, his eyebrows raised. _I wonder…_ "Potter!" he called out suddenly. The boy jumped slightly, and turned back to the front. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

A bushy-haired girl sitting next to Potter shot her hand up in the air. The boy's eyes flickered back to his friend, but he received no help. "I don't know, sir." He said.

"Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything." Snape sneered. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

The bushy-haired girl stretched her hand further into the air, but Snape kept his eyes glued to Harry.

"I don't know, sir." Potter repeated.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Snape jibed. He could see the boy struggling to keep his eyes level with his.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

This time, the girl actually stood up, but Snape still ignored her.

"I don't know." Potter said quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you ask her?"

The laughter was magnified in Snape's ears. He could see James' face leering at him, could hear his voice echoing around his mind.

_"Come on, Snivellus. You're losing to a child. How pathetic."_

"Sit down." He snapped at the girl. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of the Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite." He glanced around the now silent classroom. "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?" He watched as the class rummaged around for quills and parchment. "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

He gave the class a few more notes, then told them to clean off their desks and pair up.

"You will be brewing a simple potion for curing boils." Snape informed his students. "The ingredients are on the board." He waved his wand at the board behind him, and writing began to scroll across it. The students leaped into action.

He walked between them, scrutinizing their work. He walked behind Harry as he stewed the horned slugs.

_There is none of Lily in this boy._ Snape thought, watching Harry out of the corner of his eye. _I see only James._ He felt a flash of anger, and turned away. He walked to the other side of the room where the Malfoy boy sat.

He sneered slightly. "Good job, Mr. Malfoy." He raised his voice slightly. "You could all take a leaf from Mr. Malfoy's book. Come and look at how perfectly he stewed his horned slugs."

Suddenly, a puff of acid green smoke rose to the ceiling, and potion spilled from the melted remains of a cauldron. Students yelped in pain as it burned holes in their shoes. Soon the entire class was standing on their stools – all save one.

The Longbottom boy. He was drenched in the potion, and angry red boils popped up all over his skin. Snape frowned angrily as he swept over to him.

"Idiot boy!" He snarled at him. He waved his wand and the potion disappeared. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" The boy simply whimpered and more boils began popping up on his face.

"Take him up to the hospital wing." Snape spat at Longbottom's partner, a boy named Seamus Finnigan. He felt anger coursing through his veins, and so rounded on Harry. "You – Potter – why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

He swept back to the front of the classroom, and looked around at all of the students. "Well? Back to work!" They all tentatively climbed back down off their stools, and resumed their work.

The last hour passed silently and without incident. At the end of the period, he briefly examined each potion and jotted a grade down on a piece of parchment. He was very please to fail Potter and his partner. Then, he dismissed the class.

He'd never seen a class leave his dungeon faster, and he'd never been happier to see them gone. He sat down on a stool behind his desk and shook his head. The ignorance of his N.E.W.T. students paled in comparison to his new first years.

It had been harder than he thought…


	5. Chapter 5

The Potions Master watched the students trickle slowly into the Great Hall for breakfast. There weren't that many arriving, but it was still early yet. Most of the students would come in later, scarf down some food, and then hurry off to their morning classes, their bags banging against their legs as they rushed up the stairs.

Snape took a bite of his toast, and saw a familiar head of untidy black hair enter the Hall. He was talking animatedly to one of his friends – a red-headed boy with freckles on his nose. They sat down opposite the round-faced disaster child who had melted the cauldron last week, and began to eat breakfast.

He frowned slightly as he watched to boys across the room. The boy had many of James' mannerisms, in addition to his attitude. Snape shook his head slightly, and turned back to his breakfast.

It wasn't long, however, until the morning post arrived. Snape looked up expectantly – he had ordered a large box of lacewing flies as his supplies had been running low. However, no owl landed before him. He frowned slightly as the ceiling began to clear out. Maybe tomorrow… He thought to himself.

He was distracted by an unusual movement – the Malfoy boy was walking across the Great Hall to the Gryffindor table and was headed right for Potter. He stopped, and grabbed something from the tabletop. There was a brief exchange, and Potter leapt to his feet. Snape began to stand up, but he saw that Professor McGonagall was already there. She said something to Malfoy, who placed the thing back on the table and walked away. Potter resumed his seat, but his eyes followed Draco out of the Hall.

So, you like tormenting Slytherins too, do you? Snape's eyes narrowed as he watched the Potter boy for another moment. Then, he stood and strode from the Hall.

He walked slowly through the corridors, aiming for the general direction of the staff room. He did not have a class that day, and so was at liberty to do as he pleased.

He finally arrived at the staff room to find it empty. He settled down in a soft chair by the window, and looked out on the grounds. It was nice to just have a quiet moment to look out on the grounds (even if it was a bit bright for his taste) and reflect on the 'old days'. He could remember sitting under the large weeping willow tree by the lake with Lily, reading, or studying, or just talking about anything, everything, and nothing.

His memories were disrupted by movement on the grass below: Madame Hooch was walking across the green, a class of first years in tow. Snape watched them approach the brooms, noticing that many of the first years had nervous looks on their faces.

At that moment, the door to the staff room opened and Professor McGonagall walked in.

"Ah, professor, have you come to watch the flying lesson?" Snape asked her. She nodded, and took the empty seat opposite him. They both turned their faces towards the window.

At that moment, one of the brooms – the one bearing the round-faced potions failure – lifted itself several feet off the ground. In his panic, the boy slid off the broom and fell back to the earth. Snape stifled a slight smile. Madame Hooch said something to the students, and then marched the boy inside – no doubt to the hospital wing.

He frowned slightly. No sooner had Madame Hooch disappeared than two students had taken flight. One was the Malfoy boy. The other, "Potter." He whispered, distastefully. He shook his head. "He is just like his father." Severus spat. He saw McGonagall watching him from the corner of her eye. "Quidditch hero." He covered for himself.

At that moment, Harry was streaking towards the ground, chasing something small, and round. He pulled out of the dive at the last moment, the small object glittering in his hand.

"He is more like his father than we realize." McGonagall said matter-of-factly. She stood. "Excuse me, Severus," and she rushed from the room. A few moments later, she was striding across the field. She said something to Harry, and he followed her back inside the castle – an extremely depressed look on his face.

He remained in the staffroom – enjoying his moment of peace and solitude. If he was not very much mistaken, he felt that the Slytherin Quidditch team now had something to fear. If Potter possessed even half of his father's talent, then he wasn't likely to see another Slytherin victory for quite awhile. McGonagall would have to be mentally unsound to refuse Harry the seeker position. She could barely look him in the eye when Slytherin won the House Cup again last year.

He hadn't been sitting there for half-an-hour when a small house elf came scuttling in to the room. She had large ears and a pointed nose. She wore a tea-towel that was stamped with the Hogwarts Crest, and tied like a toga.

"Please, Mr. Professor, sir," she began, her eyes glued to the floor. "The Headmaster wishes to see you immediately.

Snape stood, nodded curtly to the elf, and then swept from the room. He quickly ascended to the third-floor.

"Chocolate frog." He said to the griffin. It leapt aside, and Snape climbed the staircase, only pausing to knock on the office door.

"Come," Dumbledore's voice filtered through the heavy wood. Snape pushed the door open and stepped inside. He found McGonagall standing a few feet away.

"You wished to see me, Headmaster?" Snape asked.

"Yes, thank you for coming, Severus." Dumbledore replied. He turned to McGonagall, "that will be all. Thank you Minerva." She bowed slightly, and then backed out of the room. Dumbledore picked up a magazine off his desk, and opened it up, Snape recognized it as the latest edition of _Transfiguration Today_.

"So, I hear that Harry Potter has some Quidditch talent," Dumbldore said, not looking up from the article he was reading.

"Was that a question?" Snape asked, his jaw tight.

"Not really." He turned a page, and then glanced briefly at Snape. "Are you surprised?"

"Not really." Snape echoed the Headmaster. Dumbledore smiled slightly. "He's just like _him_." Snape spat. He began to pace the room, his anger getting the better of him.

"Oh, how so?"

"He is the mirror image of James: He possess no discernable talent, his skills can barely pass as mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rule-breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking and impertinent – "

"You see what you expect to see, Severus," said Dumbledore, without raising his eyes from his magazine. "Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likeable, and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child."

_Maybe he has a sprinkling of Lily in him after all._ Snape thought to himself somewhat sarcastically. Lily had been modest almost to a fault, and she had been the brightest witch of her age – in spite of being muggle-born.

Dumbledore turned another page, and said, without looking up, "Keep an eye on Quirrell, won't you?"

"I thought I already was." Snape replied.

"The time for discretion has passed." Dumbledore replied. "Argus reported to me just this morning that he has seen Quirrell lurking in the third floor corridor during his off hours. His classroom is on the 1st floor." He paused. "I trust you know how to proceed."

"Yes, sir." Snape replied.

"Then you may go."


	6. Chapter 6

The next few weeks seem to slow to crawl. Severus soon found himself both dreading, and eagerly anticipating Thursday afternoons – and the first year students that would stare silently up at him for two hours.

The Potter boy caused him particular distress. He absolutely hated looking into those green eyes, but nothing gave him more pleasure than to torment the son – and spitting image – of his childhood enemy.

His only respite from the turmoil that threatened to consume him, he found in his sixth year students. Particularly a bright, Slytherin girl named Ingrid Eastchurch.

She was a relatively thin girl with icy blue eyes, and short, white hair. Because she was a Slytherin, Snape was already predisposed to prefer her to his other N.E.W.T. students, but she really did possess an incredible talent for potion-making – a talent that he hadn't seen since his own days at school.

As it was Halloween, classes had been released early, and most of the school was preparing to attend the holiday feast in the Great Hall. Miss Eastchurch, however, had detained Snape at the end of the lesson. She had several questions about the potion they had made in class that day, as well as potion lore in general. They remained in the dungeon for several hours as he answered her questions, and she took notes. When they had finally finished talking, the feast had already begun.

They left Snape's office, and began to walk up the corridor when Snape thought he saw a familiar shadow on the wall. He did a double-take, but it was gone.

"Professor?" Ingrid called back. She was already several steps ahead of him. "We really should be at the feast…" Snape nodded, and then followed her up to the Entrance Hall, looking back over his shoulder one last time, but seeing nothing.

When they arrived at the feast, the plates were already filled with food, and the goblets with pumpkin juice. Ingrid took a seat next to another sixth year at the Slytherin table, and Snape proceeded up the hall to the staff table, taking his place toward the end.

The seat next to him was empty.

_Where have you gone, Quirrell?_ He wondered to himself. His question did not go long unanswered as the doors to the Great Hall flew open at that moment, and Professor Quirrell came sprinting in, his turban askew, and a look of terror on his face.

He slumped against the table in front of Dumbledore and gasped, "Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know." He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

It took several purple firecrackers exploding from Dumbledore's wand to calm down the pandemonium that ensued.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!" He then turned to the teachers. "Come, we must get to the dungeons. Quickly!" He glanced at Snape, then hurried off down the Hall, all of the other professors in tow.

Snape glanced at Quirrell on the floor, and made to follow Dumbledore out of the Hall. However, instead of turning right, and going downstairs, he ducked behind a tapestry near the Grand Staircase, and, a moment later, he emerged in the third floor corridor.

He started toward the door at the end of the corridor, but stopped when he heard the pounding of running footsteps behind him. He slid behind a statue of a one-eyed witch named Gunhilda. The footsteps passed him, and only stopped at the end of the corridor. Snape stepped out from behind the statue and recognized the figure as the one who had cast the familiar shadow in the dungeons.

"Alohamora." The man said. The door clicked open, and he slipped inside.

Snape followed him swiftly, sliding through the door just before it closed. On the other side he found Quirrell standing face-to-face with a gigantic three-headed dog that was bearing all 126 of its teeth at the small man in the turban.

The dog thrashed its heads angrily, and snapped at Quirrell, who barely managed to dodge it. Without pausing to think, Snape threw open the door, and pushed Quirrell through it. The dog let out a roar of anger and gnashed its teeth. It lashed its right head at Snape who jumped to the left, and right into the jaws of its left head. It latched itself onto his leg and began to lift him into the air.

There was nothing to stop this huge dog from thrashing him around like a ragdoll.

_Well, almost nothing…_ Almost blind with pain, Snape pulled his wand from his sleeve, and pointed it at the dog's face. "Spiculum!" He shouted. Yellow light burst from the end of his wand and hit the dog in the eyes. It yelped in pain, and dropped him immediately.

He wasted no time in pulling himself from the room, and locking the door behind him. He looked around for Quirrell, but he was nowhere to be found. Snape shook his head. He looked down at his leg. It was covered in blood and dog saliva, but the cut itself didn't look to bad. He gingerly stood up and slowly placed weight on it. It held him up. He nodded, rather satisfied with himself, and then limped quickly from the corridor.

He had just emerged on the landing when he heard several bangs and crashes coming from an adjacent corridor, and two pairs of footsteps running up the stairs. Snape quickly twitched his robes to cover his leg, and watched Professors McGonagall and Quirrell run towards him. He briefly met Quirrell's eyes, but turned quickly to McGonagall.

"Did you get the troll?" He asked her.

"No, he had left the dungeons by the time we arrived." McGonagall glanced down the corridor to their left. "Although, I have a pretty good idea where it went." The continued down the corridor, each with their wands out. McGonagall reached a large set of double doors marked at the Girl's Lavatory. They were closed.

She pushed them open and they banged loudly against the walls. She burst into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the room, and sank down on a toilet seat with a faint whimper, his hand covering his heart.

It certainly was a strange scene. There stood Potter and Weasley in the ruins of what had been, that morning, a perfectly functioning lavatory. Stalls had been destroyed, and skins had been smashed from the walls. Weasley still held his wand in the air. In the center of all of this lay a twelve-foot mountain troll with a humongous knot forming on its thick skull.

Snape approached the troll, and bent down to get a closer look. It was out cold. By the looks of it, it had been hit over the head with its own club.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" McGonagall's voice was filled with cold fury. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look, and Potter looked at the floor.

_Does he know about the stone?_

"Please, Professor McGonagall – they were looking for me."

Snape looked around for the speaker, and saw Hermione Granger emerge from the shadows.

"Miss Granger!" McGonagall exclaimed in surprise.

"I went looking for the troll because I – I thought I could deal with it on my own – you know, because I've read all about them." Granger said.

_She's lying._ Snape didn't have to use his power of Occlumency to know that – the confidence in her small voice, combined with the surprise on Potter's face was enough to convince him of that. He glanced at Potter again, but didn't say anything. Potter was too much like his father to let a girl get in _mortal peril_, even if it was just a mountain troll.

"If they hadn't found me," Hermione continued, "I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up it nose, and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Snape turned to look at Quirrell. He still had his hand over his heart, and a panicked look on his face, but Snape wasn't sure if that was a result of the troll's defeat, or the brush with the three-headed dog.

He turned back to McGonagall, and watched Potter and Weasley leave the room.

"Do you really believe them?" Snape asked her.

McGonagall just looked at him. Then, she turned, business-like, towards the troll. "Come now, Severus, Quirinus, we must remove this troll."

Between the three of them, the managed to magick it into the air, squeeze it through the bathroom doors, down the stairs, and through the front doors of the castle. They left it on the grounds in the care of Hagrid, then returned to the castle.

Snape immediately descended into the dungeons. He'd managed to conceal his wound from the other teachers, but his eyes were now watering in pain. He searched through his stores, finally managing to locate a small phial of dittany. He dropped a few drops on his leg, and clenched his teeth against the stinging.

He sunk into the chair behind his desk, and rested his head in his hands.

_Well, now I _know_ that Quirrell is after the Stone._ He thought to himself. But, Quirrell didn't seem like the immortal type. _So, why?_


	7. Chapter 7

Almost over night, the weather took a sharp turn for the worst. It wasn't cold enough for snow to fall, but it was certainly on the right track. The castle got colder, and the dungeons felt like deep freezers. Students had been running through the halls in large groups, huddling to keep warm despite their thick winter cloaks and scarves.

Almost a week had passed since Snape stopped Quirrell, but the Defense Against the Darks Arts teacher seemed to be going out of his way to avoid Snape. However, Severus had a much more pressing matter to attend to. His leg wasn't healing quite right, and he was starting to become concerned. As it was Dumbledore's wish to keep the staff ignorant of Quirrell's actions, lest Quirrell himself become suspicious and try to escape, Snape had avoided going to Madame Pomfrey to have his leg healed.

He pulled down an old copy of _Healing and Restorative Draughts_ by Medicus Tedavi, and began to leaf through the worn pages. He finally managed to find the Allium potion. When properly brewed, it makes a poultice that speeds up the healing process, and also clears out any possibility of infection. He ran his finger down the list of ingredients, and found that he had all but one; He was out of Sativum bulbs.

_Great,_ he thought.,_now I have to go get some from Greenhouse two._ He pulled the ingredients he already had from the cabinet in his office, and lit a fire in the grate. It would be good and hot when he got back, and he could get started right away.

He limped from his dungeon, locking the door behind him. He moved a bit slower because of his wounded leg, so it took him a good five minutes to climb the stairs to the entrance hall. There were very few students about, so he was able to get out on to the grounds without drawing too much attention to himself. He had just turned the corner on the path that led to the greenhouses when he spotted three students standing with their backs to each other. They shifted guiltily, and Snape recognized an untidy mess of black hair.

His leg gave a particularly sharp stab of pain, and he clenched his teeth. Potter was looking up at him with a familiar insolence reflecting in his green eyes. He had an old, green book open in his hands.

"What's that you've got there, Potter?" He asked.

Harry held up the book. It read _Quidditch Through the Ages_, by Kennilworthy Whisp, with a red wax seal on the cover that said "Property of Hogwarts Library."

He sneered. "Library books are not to be take outside the school," he said. "Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor." Potter looked mutinous, but handed the book over without a word. Snape tucked it into a pocket in his robes, and continued on his way to Greenhouse Two.

He looked around briefly, but didn't see Professor Sprout anywhere. He entered Greenhouse Two, and grabbed a pair of shears from a workbench by the door. He limped between rows of plants before finally finding a Sativum plant. It consisted of a few green shoots stemming from a single bulb buried in soil. He pulled up two of the bulbs, and deposited them in a small cloth bag that he kept in his pocket for just such times as these.

He replaced the shears, and returned to his dungeon. Potter and his friends must have returned to their common room because he didn't pass them on the way back to the castle.

He swiftly combined all of his collected ingredients in the cauldron, and stirred it counter-clockwise, as the directions stated. Now, it just had to simmer for an hour. He sighed, and left the dungeon, again.

Dinner had just begun, and he could hear the happy chatter of hundreds of students in the Great Hall. He passed through the door, and spotted the caretaker sitting at his usual place at the far end of the table, his cat watching the students from her perch in his lap.

Snape walked around the edge of the Hall, and paused just behind Filch. He cleared his throat, and the Caretaker jumped slightly. He looked up into the Potion Master's black eyes.

"Yes, Professor?" He asked him, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

Snape glanced around, making sure no one was listening. "I need you to meet me in the staff room in an hour and a half." He said, softly. Filch looked quizzically at him, but nodded. Snape then moved on to his seat, and ate a hurried meal. When he had finished, he glanced at Filch, and then swept from the Great Hall.

When he returned to his dungeon, the potion was a light shade of alabaster, and was simmering softly over the fire. He checked the clock over his desk, and saw that he was right at an hour, so he removed the cauldron from the fire, and set it on one of the worktables. He pulled out a phial and ladled some of the potion into it, being very careful not to touch it. The potion would remain in liquid form until it came into contact with human flesh, at which point it would change into a thick paste. He also scooped up the bandages that he had set on his desk earlier, and deposited all of it into his pocket. He then left his office, and went up to the staff room.

Filch was there waiting for him.

"Hello, Professor." He said, as Snape entered the room. Snape nodded, and then emptied his pockets on to the staff room table. He held up the book he had confiscated from Potter earlier, then tossed it into a chair in the corner of the room.

"I need your help." Snape said calmly. He lifted the leg of his robe to show his wound to the caretaker. "I can't see it well enough to spread the potion on it, and it's not healing well so it all needs to be put on."

Filch nodded, and pulled out a clean rag from his pocket. Snape conjured a bucket of water from midair, and Filch began to clean the fresh blood away from the wound.

"Have you seen anyone lurking about the third floor corridor?" Snape asked Flich, wincing slightly.

"Those damned Weasley twins were lurking about there a few weeks ago, but they weren't after the door." He replied, wringing out the rag. He then poured some of the potion on the rag, and began to spread it across the wound. It turned into a thick paste, and then quickly dissolved into Snape's skin. "I also saw Quirrell lurking around every now and then before Halloween. He even rescued Potter and Weasley who were trying to get through the door. I don't think they knew where they were though." There was a slight tone of disappointment in his voice. Snape knew he would have loved nothing more than to punish them in their first week at school – especially for something like trying to trespass in a forbidden area.

"I can see why Dumbledore asked Hagrid to provide the dog." Snape said. Filch began to hand him bandages.

"Difficult to fight?" Filch asked.

"Blasted thing," Snape said. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?" He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye, and heard the door creak. His head snapped towards the door. Those green eyes.

"POTTER!" He yelled, his face twisted with fury. He quickly dropped his robe to hide his leg.

"I just wondered if I could have my book back." He said through the door.

"GET OUT! _OUT!_" Potter bolted from the door, and disappeared up the stairs. Snape waved his wand at the door, and it closed with a bang. He then pointed it toward the bandages, and the flew through the air and wrapped themselves around his leg.


	8. Chapter 8

The poultice worked like a dream. His leg felt much better the next morning, even if it wasn't completely healed, it still bled, and he had to replace the bandages every few hours, but at least he could stop limping.

The school was abuzz with excitement. The first Quidditch match of the season was taking place at eleven o'clock: Slytherin versus Gyffindor. Snape took his place in the staff box, between McGonagall and Sinistra.

No sooner had he sat down, than the two teams walked out on to the field, and the captains joined Madame Hooch at the center. She said something to them, and they all mounted their brooms. A moment later, she gave a loud blast on her whistle, and all fifteen brooms rose up into the air.

"And the Quaffle is take immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chase that girl is, and rather attractive, too—" Lee Jordan, a Gryffindor third year, sat in the row in front of Snape, commentating the match.

"JORDAN!" McGonagall shouted at him.

"Sorry, Professor." Jordan smiled back at her, then turned back to the match. "And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve –"

Snape stopped paying attention to Jordan's erratic commentary, and McGonagall's furious shouting, and actually began to watch the game. Gryffindor scored twice, putting them twenty points in the lead, much to the Slytherins' chagrin. Then, the seekers began to dive towards a small glint of gold. They were practically neck and neck. Then – WHAM!

Marcus Flint, Captain of the Slytherin team, had blocked Potter on purpose, causing Harry's broom to spin wildly off course.

"Foul!" Screamed the red and gold clad Gryffindors. Madame Hooch spoke with Flint, a furious look on her face, then blew her whistle, signaling a free shot at the goalposts for Gryffindor.

"So – after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating –" Jordan resumed his commentary.

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul –"

"/IJordan, I'm warning you –/I"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnett, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

Play resumed, but, this time, rather than watch the game, Snape watched Harry. Potter had just dodged a Bludger when his broom suddenly began to lurch, first in one direction, then another. It soon began zigzagging back and forth, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that nearly unseated him. His plight seemed to go relatively unnoticed as the commentary and the game continued.

_Dark magic._ Snape thought. He glanced around, and saw that one other person in the box had noticed Harry's broomstick difficulties – Quirrell was seated on the other side of Professor Sinistra, and had his eyes glued on the young Seeker's broomstick, his lips moving rapidly. There wasn't time to do anything; Potter could fall at any moment. Snape immediately locked his eyes on Harry, and began muttering counter-curses under his breath. He threw all of his concentration at Potter, willing him not to fall.

Potter's broom kept going higher, and higher. Snape kept his eyes glued on Potter's Nimbus Two-thousand, following it as it bucked higher, and higher, and higher.

Suddenly, there was an intense pain shooting up his wounded leg. He yelped, and his concentration was broken. He looked down at his leg and saw a singe mark on his pants leg. He frowned slightly, and looked back up at Potter.

He had regained control of his broomstick, and was speeding toward the ground. He suddenly clapped his hand to his mouth as though he were about to be sick. Potter hit the field on all fours – coughed – and something gold fell into his hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" He shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

Snape looked around the box, and saw that Quirrell no longer occupied his seat. Somehow, he had pitched headfirst into the front row. Snape offered his hand to the Professor, and pulled him back up. Their eyes met.

"That was a dangerous thing to do, Quirrell." Snape told him, threateningly. He saw McGonagall coming down the row to see what all the fuss was about. "You should be more careful from now on. You could get hurt." Snape raised his eyebrow, and kept his eye locked on Quirrell's. Snape saw a flicker of fear cross the other man's face.

"Y-yes, of c-course," he stammered back. "Thank you, p-p-professor." He then scurried from the stands in a manner reminiscent of a very scared jackrabbit, adjusting his turban as he went.

Snape rejoined the crowd heading back to the castle, pausing only once to frown disapprovingly at Flint.

Upon arriving at the castle, Severus directed his steps toward the third floor, and the Headmaster's office. As he walked, memories began to flood his brain.

_He sat very still, concealed behind a bush. He was watching for any movement. There was none except for a large willow tree that seemed to be moving with the wind. He crept forward from his hiding place, and headed toward the tree._

_He was being very careful not to make any noise, but the tree must have sensed him anyway because a branch hit him aside with the force of a very small locomotive. He landed on the ground, hard, the wind knocked clean from his lungs._

_He sat there, gasping for breath, the tree still flailing about. One particularly large branch was about to descend upon his head when he felt a pair of hands grab him under the armpits and yank him backwards. The branch hit the ground exactly where Snape had just been sitting._

_He fell backwards, coughing as he finally got his breath back. A tallish boy with round glasses and untidy black hair stood over him, a look of complete shock and disbelief on his face._

_"Geez, Snivellus," he panted, "I didn't think you were actually stupid enough to listen to Sirius. Why on earth made you think that taking on the Whomping Willow was a good idea?"_

_Snape stood and glared at him. "Potter," He spat on the ground. "Always having to play the hero." He stalked off across the grounds, back towards the castle._

_It was all probably his idea anyway. Potter told Black to bait Snape into going down the secret passage under the willow just so he could play the hero and win Lily over._


End file.
